


Pretty

by Obscured



Category: Martin (1977)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Light Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-25 23:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscured/pseuds/Obscured
Summary: He was just so hauntingly pretty....sometimes





	Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Not meant to be serious. I wrote this on a whim

Pretty. I think that would be the only word to use to accurately describe him. In the beginning it was difficult, really hard to explain... His features were soft...delicate undeniably unique. I spent the same amount of time staring at my friend… just trying to comprehend as I did enjoying being in his presence. Trying to understand his beauty alone was inherently frustrating. I could never quite tell if his eyes were grey, brown or hazel. Maybe some mixture of the three. They ’d always seem to darken if I stared into them too deeply. His lips were full, plush but not brazenly so. He chewed on them quite often, leaving them tinted pink. I would tease him about it, and he would laugh the color of his cheeks following suit.

He was pretty when he spoke and when he smiled, which used to be on rare occasion. He had this quiet somber almost melancholy air about him, which some might have found to be off-putting. But I didn’t. There was not much about Martin that didn’t hold some sort of quiet fascination for. His smile was crooked and boyish, it touched the corners of his eyes. When he laughed it was musical, and I knew it was from the heart. He had this odd cryptic way of speaking sometimes, he would carefully choose his words. Other times however, his phrasing was exceedingly blunt. It was really endearing in a way.

 

He was pretty when he walked. Hands shoved into his back pockets when not clasping mine. Hair would fall into his eyes as he watched the ground in front of him, just listening as I rambled on about one thing or another. His footsteps were slow and leisurely yet achingly precise. It was like he was trying to leave a detailed inprint in the pavement. Other times when he felt light he ’d seem to drift about walking on air, leaping up to grab branches... tossing stones along the way. His eyes drifted upwards often... pointing towards the trees. The moon, the stars a flickering lamp post in the distance. 

 

He was pretty when he blushed, which he seemed to do quite often. I could hardly recall a time that I’d seen him without that ever-present splash of color across his cheeks. He would blush when he laughed, or as soon I started to speak. He would blush the second I’d answer the door, and again when I went to hug him goodbye. He blushed when he kissed me, and I thought he might faint. He mumbled some sort of apology determined not to look at me. I could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin as I ghosted my lips over his forehead, over his cheeks, urging him to calm, before pressing my lips to his.

He was pretty when he moaned, his spine arching off the bed… long delicate fingers entwined in the bed sheets as I leisurely worked him over. So pretty with his cock, laying back against his stomach, the tip glistening with slick. He’d lick his lips sweetly, looking up at me with a hooded gaze, eyes unsure of where to settle first. Silently begging me to keep touching him. I would proceed to worship every square inch of him with my lips, despite his initial gasps of surprise.

He’d pry his fingers away from the sheets, only to dig them into my hips, in an attempt to get closer, go deeper. My nails would rake his scalp gently tugging and his eyes would fall shut. Even sweeter sounds falling from his lips, breathy sighs, accompanied by the rare grunt of pleasure. His face was one of near tortured pleasure, It always made me wonder if I was hurting him depending on what exactly we were doing. 

 

With moans increasing in volume, always so pretty when he came. To watch him let go completely, was a sight to behold. His chest would begin to heave in time with his motions, brows knitted together as hair fell into his eyes. Pale skin glowing beneath a sheen of perspiration. His body grew rigid and taut. He’d hold still for a moment in suspended animation. Gasping, as moans and whimpers melded together into a song of their own. He’d collapse back against the pillows, or down on top of me, his skin practically humming beneath my fingertips. He would shift settling next to me face buried against my chest. His breathing would slow and deepen as I soothingly tease my fingers through his hair. So pretty I’d whisper, more so under my breath. I would always feel his lips curl into a smile, as he’d nuzzle in closer.


End file.
